Approval  ::On Hiatus::
by The Unmarked Trail
Summary: After the showdown with Ginny and Paul, a severely injured Jason has time to grab one thing before leaving his shack forever: mother. And he has the perfect place to take her, back to Higgins Haven, home of the beautiful Chris. But will mother approve?
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

He sank to the floor of his shack much the same way he had sunk to the bottom of Crystal Lake that horrid afternoon so many years before. The girl called Ginny had viciously wounded him with his own blade - his _mother's_ blade! - and he was preparing himself for a second death. Lying there on the floor with the thing jutting from his body, her sweat and fingerprints still on the handle of the murder weapon, Jason had the incredible urge to look up at the girl to see if the illusion was still functioning on some level. Ever since she had pulled on his mother's sweater and spoken to him in that soft, lilting voice, he had actually been able to see Pamela Voorhees in her milky face. Supple young flesh of a girl barely out of high school had been magically stricken by the familiar crow's feet of the woman who had slaved away in that camp kitchen so that he could be fed and clothed.

Even though that had been a trick, accepted mere seconds ago by his own feeble mind, he wanted to believe again. A part of him knew that death would again reject him as had everyone else at Camp Crystal Lake, as had his own father, but still he could be drifting in the netherworld for quite some time before returning. That was how it had been the first time, when the little girl had guided him along the bottom of the murky green lake. How long he had stayed down there was a mystery, but what had kept him going was memories. Memories of his mother and the things she had taught him, such as how to read passages from his favorite Hardy Boys stories, the things she had shown him, like the lights in the sky through an old telescope, and the love she had given him.

But the shack was dark, and the pain was great. His lungs filled with not lake water but his own blood, the smell of dirt, candles and rotting cop. The girl and her boyfriend's faces swam away from him and Jason Voorhees died for the second time in his life.

_The lake is not my lover! I want a real girl! I want to bring her home to you, mommy! The three of us can pick out our favorite stars together!_

Those were the things he thought as the light bled back into his dark world. It was moonlight, shining through the front window of his modest shack, and the lantern that cast a dim amber glow from the sill. Together they banished dreams of the lake bottom, where he had clutched the door handle of that old Buick to keep the current from taking him further, showing him more. Eventually he saw it, though, the canoe filled with bones, the chest of drawers sticking out of the mud like a cockeyed tombstone and filled with old, torn-then-taped love letters, and the other rotting automobiles. And the whole time he was being made witness, the skeleton behind the wheel of that Buick laughed and laughed and laughed. Once or twice he could have sworn it was Barry, mocking him for his fear of the water. Claudette sat on the hood like a 50's centerfold, ghostly pale and silent.

Now, back on dry land, Jason found himself curled up in the fetal position on the floor. His pillowcase had been removed and a cool breeze stroked his face. Realizing that Paul had stripped him of his protection and exposed his twisted visage, Jason felt anger course through him, anger that was amplified when he remembered milky Ginny's nasty trick. Together the two of them had defeated him and then skipped off happily into the night, savoring their victory over the pitiful backwoods hermit. They would probably make wild, passionate love to celebrate, giggling at the thought of him sharing his bed not with a woman but the bugs and the dirt and the stolen, perfumed bed sheets from Higgins Haven.

Higgins Haven. Where he had gotten the pillowcase. Where he had gotten the bed sheets. Where he had gotten so many meals and showers. Ginny and Paul were _alive_, god damn it, and they would soon tell the police exactly where to find him, and his mother. He couldn't let them be found. Their work was incomplete. Their mission had been only a partial success. First Alice had foiled his mother, and then Ginny had foiled him. Well, as much as that truth stung like salt in an open wound, Jason could move his ass and deny them a full victory. He could rip this blade from his flesh and take his mother to the one place that called out to him like the beautiful Chris Higgins herself, singing to her parents about horses and riding lessons and the moronic Rick, who liked to be shirtless when he stacked hay.

He could take his mother to Higgins Haven.

Slowly he pulled the machete from his shoulder. It clattered to the floor as he got to his feet. Already he could feel the strength flooding back into his rapidly healing body. He reached down, picked up the pillowcase and went into the shrine. His mother's head still sat atop the altar, eyes staring blankly. Taking her into his shaking hands, Jason tenderly placed her in the pillowcase that had only hours before covered his horrible face. She would be safe in there until they got to Higgins Haven. He took one last look around their home and the offered bodies before leaving. Let them find this place; even let them smash it to the ground with bulldozers. It mattered not. He had his mother with him and together they would start out fresh at Higgins Haven. Chris and her parents had not been back since he had let her go that night long ago. They would be safe there.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

The wound burned brightly in contrast with the darkness surrounding him. Jason winced as the pain bit at him relentlessly, even after he'd switched the pillowcase containing his mother's head to his other hand. He'd left the pickax and all of his tools in the shack, he knew he couldn't manage to carry a weapon and Mommy simultaneously, not with this painful gash in his body even now leaking alarming amounts of blood. The blue flannel was sticky with his own blood, and he felt vulnerable, unarmed in the woods so soon after his little go round with Ginny and Paul. Perhaps they were even now alerting lawmen to the location of his now abandoned shack.

He was doing the right thing leaving, although the slightest twinge of longing for the only home he'd had for so many years stung his heart. His shack might have been poorly constructed, dirty, cold and drafty at times, but it had been his. It couldn't be helped however. They might discover the shack, the tools, the corpse offerings, Mommy's now empty shrine, all of it, but they would not discover him. He'd be sure of that.

Jason was taking a lesser-known trail along the lake, and even though he had taken a longer route than necessary for fear of discovery by law enforcement he knew he was rapidly coming up on Higgins Haven. The thought of somewhere quiet to rest for a little while spurred him on even when the burning pain in his body cried out for him to stop. He could see a familiar landmark, an ancient oak tree that had been the victim of a bolt during an electrical storm many years ago. The split trunk reassured him, he was going to make it there despite the pain, for he was getting close, so close

The smallest ghost of a smile lit on his twisted lips. With any luck at all, the property would still be empty. During his past raids for easy supplies, he had not seen any sign of the Higgins, and hopefully the trend would continue. He often wondered exactly where they lived when not occupying the cheerful summer home, but it didn't really matter, he supposed. As long as they didn't plan an impromptu trip to the long quiet Haven, he and Mommy would be safe.

Like a shining beacon, Jason could see the familiar structure of the barn and the house ahead, and the little wooden placard bearing the words Higgins Haven still hung there to welcome him. The weariness and pain he'd been fighting during his grim trek began to tug insistently at him now that he was standing before the possibility of resting and recouping. The back door was Jason's preferred mode of entry, and the fact that the latch was still broken was a good sign.

Letting himself into the dark house, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. He was out of the woods, both figuratively and literally. No one would think to look for him here, and even if that girl Ginny led the police straight to his shack, it didn't matter. Pain tugged at him again, reminding him that he need to go see to his wound. The bleeding had slowed, but the pain was as fierce as ever.

He padded into the bathroom where he gently set Mommy's pillowcase carrier down onto the soft rug. He didn't pull her head out just yet though; he didn't want to upset her with the sight of his wound. She had always been upset whenever he'd hurt himself playing as a child, and even when he'd been unfortunate enough as an adult to suffer a scrape or gouge in the course of hunting or home repair. No, Mommy didn't need to see this.

The machete wound wasn't gushing blood anymore, and his previously sticky shirt was beginning to stiffen against his skin, caking with dried blood and dirt from the shack's floor. It would have to come off now, before the wound ceased to bleed and the fabric became stuck tight. He knew from experience that was extremely painful. Slowly, carefully he unfastened the overalls and began to unbutton the torn shirt. It was already beginning to stick, so turned on the tap and dampened the area above the wound. It worked, and he was able to pull the shirt off without too much resistance.

Strangely, the wound did not look as bad as he envisioned. In fact, as he examined the sliced flesh he found it hard to believe that not an hour before his machete had been lodged within. Yes, it was still a very nasty wound, but something about it was off almost. Perhaps she had not cut him as deeply as he'd originally believed, he reasoned. He shoved the recent memories of feeling blood rattle about in his lungs and of coppery red fluid rising to froth and foam at his lips further back in his mind, choosing to ignore the unpleasantness of it all. Ginny just had not had the strength to drive the machete that far into him, that was all.

The shirt was obviously ruined. Although Jason was never one to be terribly concerned with his clothing's appearance and condition, even he had to admit that this shirt was beyond salvaging. Well, what else was there to do but go into the closets and hope something serviceable had been left behind for him to scavenge. The Higgins seemed to be well enough off that they frequently left things behind, much to Jason's advantage. The pantries were always overstocked when they vacationed, and they never seemed to notice the missing linens and sundries he had appropriated on his many trips.

Jason walked into Mr. and Mrs. Higgins room and began rifling through the drawers. As well as leaving the pantry stocked with more than they ever would ever eat, the Higgins also would leave clothing, as if it were nothing to relegate perfectly good clothes to a dresser in a mostly unused summer home. Of course, he didn't suppose that any of the Higgins had ever had to cobble together a wardrobe out of other's castoffs and laundry line thefts. They just went into the department stores and charged away, exiting with new, unworn clothing packaged in crisp brown and white shopping bags.

Yes, Mr. Higgins had left an array of shirts, and he quickly found one that would fit him as well as a pair of jeans that looked about right. He carried the clothes back to the bathroom and went about scrubbing the grime and blood away. The warm water raining down from the showerhead was a major improvement over bathing in the frequently cold lake any day, and the warmth soothed his jangled nerves considerably. He was in a good spot.

If now one had busted the door open yet to catch him, they were not likely to. Ginny and Paul surely had already had plenty of time to alert the police, and even if they discovered the shack empty they would focus on the dilapidated cabins and store rooms of Camp Blood.

No one would think to come here.

With that comforting thought in mind, he donned the borrowed clothing, trying not to dwell on the fact that the wound looked even shallower and less severe than before with the filth and blood washed away. Now he and Mommy could find a place in the house and settle in for some very needed rest and recuperation.


	3. Chapter 3

Part III

Chris Higgins wondered what this trip would be like had it gone according to plan: her friends coming with her in the blue van they all called the Boogie Wagon. Best friend Debbie would be up front with her as she drove, happily gabbing about how she had never been to a lake before as she applied her favorite nail polish the color of arterial blood. Chris would periodically check the rear view mirror to see what The Wild Bunch was up to in the back, allowing herself a small smile at their pot smoking antics. Though she didn't approve of drug use, they never took it too far and only ever ended up doing goofy things like juggling apples and oranges anyway.

She was certain that Debbie and the others would be able to soothe her damaged nerves, usually okay but instantly shredded at the thought of returning to Crystal Lake. It was there, at her family's summer home, that a monster with twisted pink skin had dragged her along the forest floor by her wrists, intent on taking her to some dark hole where he was planning to..._what?_ What was he going to do with her? She shivered violently at the thoughts racing through her mind, everything from cannibalism to sexual assault.

But her mother had insisted upon the two of them making the journey to the summer home that weekend, for Mrs. Higgins had arranged for a local magazine to do a photo shoot at their lodge. It was a Better Homes and Garden type of deal, with Higgins Haven about to be immortalized as one of the ten top homes in rural New Jersey. "We need to make sure everything is clean and perfect, and that alone will take your mind off that terrible nightmare you had a few years back."

Her mother was being quite literal when she used the word nightmare, for she and her father had never believed that Chris had actually been attacked. She had fled into the woods after their awful fight that night and simply fallen into a demented dreamworld as she sat against an old oak tree, memories of their knock down drag out becoming a deformed creature. Her mother had even had the unmitigated gall to say that the hideous man was her subconscious mind's way of telling her that she had been right to be so angry about the late night date with Rick. "Girls who stay out late - like your friend Debbie - end up getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. Maybe that dream will ensure you never really run into some beast you can never hope to get away from."

So her mother had heard her on the phone with Debbie and invited herself along while disinviting everybody else. "She and her boy toy can pick out baby names or something. This trip is for family only." Chris had to shake her head at that one. _Family._ Right. Family had been the first thing on that woman's mind when she uprooted them all from their home in Texas when Chris was ten because the place was suddenly not good enough for her wanna-be East Coast sensibilities. They had left Fort Worth like thieves in the night, barely saying goodbye to their friends and neighbors in their mad dash to get up north and be a part of, well, that Better Homes and Garden society that so fascinated her mother.

Chris still had a bit of Texas in her, however. Her love of bright, warm days, and of horses charging along with the wind in their manes. She had been asking her father about getting at least one horse for the empty barn out behind the lodge, but since the encounter with that awful man her desire to ride had been replaced by a desire to hide. _That's_ why she had to come back to the scene of the crime to face down what had happened. It was getting in the way of everything: school, work, her social life. She couldn't concentrate enough to complete any task, she still had nightmares that extended beyond the dragging and ended in some freaky shack made from a patchwork quilt of wood and trash.

_And the head. Don't forget the severed head, with skin like the leather of her father's old saddlebag after it had been left out in the rain. Somehow It was even worse than that body in the bathrobe that lay slumped against the altar it was perched atop._

She had never spoken a word of that shack or its contents to her mother, or her father. That was private information, and Chris had already made up her mind about what she would do if she ever came across that dwelling in the woods this weekend. She had insisted on keeping one aspect of her original plan despite her mother yelling about wanting to take her Cadillac. They had come in the blue Boogie Wagon, and in the far back, covered by a red flannel blanket that she had once taken along for a picnic with Rick, was a large metal can of gasoline, filled to the brim.

If she ever saw that goddamn monster's hovel she was going to burn it down to the ground. And if that thing was inside at the time, all the better. Now, as she drove her blue van along the rickety old bridge leading to Higgins Haven, she saw her mother notice the book of matches that lay on the dash. Mrs. Higgins frowned, her mouth puckering into a sour expression as she reached for it.

"What is this doing here, Chrissy? You're not _smoking_ are you?"

Chris slowed the van to avoid hitting a rabbit that darted out onto the dirt trail before them. "No, mom, those were left here by Andy. I gave him and Debbie a lift back to campus one day when their car broke down in town."

"What a filthy habit," she said, tossing them back on the dash. "Your Rick friend, does he smoke, too?"

Again she said: "No, mom. He's clean. Too much of a healthy living country boy to do anything like that."

Something around here was sure going to smoke, if she had anything to say about it. Then, once her mother saw the ashes and the scattered bones, she would never again doubt her daughter's story. Chris smiled and pulled the van to a stop beside the old barn that had yet to see a horse. They had arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV

Although Jason was still beyond weary, a shower and a fresh set of clothes had done much to bolster his mood. It had been a while since he'd visited Higgins Haven, and although nothing much here ever changed, the desire to prowl about was still alluring. He'd settled Mommy down on an overstuffed chair, so she would be comfortable while he explored the quiet house.

His first stop on his self-guided tour was of course the Higgins girl's room. Even though she had not been here in quite some time-

_Ever since that night…_

-he felt drawn to that room like a moth to a flame. Predictably, it was exactly the same as it had been every other time he'd stopped by. Nothing in here ever seemed to change, it was as if this room stood frozen in time, down to the smallest detail. Apparently Chris's parents never came in here either on the rare occasion they had come back to the house

_Since that night…_

Jason frowned, wishing he could simply explore the room in peace without this critical inner voice tugging at his brain. Unlike Mommy's constant reassurances and helpful guidance, this condemning voice served only to make him feel bad. What was done, was done. It wasn't as if he could go back in time and change anything. If he'd learned anything over the years, it was this. Better to just let it go.

In an attempt to distract himself from his own disapproving inner monologue, he slid one of the long neglected drawers out. Everything just as she'd left it, albeit a little rumpled from his previous trips. The colorful cotton t-shirts were just as soft as ever to the touch, and he took a moment to paw through them, if only to reassure himself that they were indeed real. Hands moving almost unbidden, he reached for the top junk drawer, thoughtfully gazing on the hairbrush that still had dusty strands of her dark hair twined through the bristles.

He'd almost taken the brush several times before, but something had always stayed his hand just as he'd gone to shove it into the faded old green duffle bag he used to carry his hauls in. The whole thing was strange, really, he couldn't really rationalize why he'd wanted to take it. Obviously canned goods, linen and the occasional purloined shirt took precedence over some girl's used hairbrush, but he'd always wanted to take it regardless.

Well, now he would. If she had not returned for it or asked her parents to bring it to her by now, then she never would. Even if he had no real use for it, taking it was better than leaving it to sit forever in an unused bedroom. Why exactly, he did not know, but regardless, he would take it this time.  
The brush felt almost warm in his hand as he continued to rifle through the drawers and their predictable contents. Soon he was down to the last one, the bottom left drawer containing a heavy photo album.

He flipped the cover open to look at familiar pictures, chronicling Chris's gradual advancement through childhood and adolescence. Several of the pictures were quite recognizable not only from repeatedly perusing the album, but because he could vaguely remember seeing her that day, dressed in the same outfits, sometimes even seeing the actual photo being taken. The more recent ones were the most familiar as he'd by then made it habit to drift through the area rather frequently.

Chris's soft, sweet smile taunted him from behind thin, clear plastic. She'd always been so pretty, and seemed so happy, so carefree -

_Until you came along she was…_

He slammed the scrapbook down in a mixture of anger and guilt. The urge to go out to the barn and take up an axe and chop her dresser to kindling was so strong that his hands shook, but instead he settled for ripping each drawer from it's track and dumping the contents he'd pawed so carefully through to the ground. Clothing flew about as he indulged in his tantrum, scattering shorts, sweaters and trinkets alike with heavy boots.

A pink sweater caught his eye, and he snatched it up.  
Mommy's old one had been tainted by that terrible girl and her lies, so he'd left it crumpled in a heap outside of the shack, not bothering to retrieve it. She would need a new one. This one was just as soft and pretty as he remembered the old one to be, and hopefully she would be pleased with it. Jason did always try to make her happy, and if he were going to take the brush he might as well take the sweater along for her.

Now that he had calmed down he knew he should pick all Chris's things up and put them back into the drawers as they had been, but hunger was beginning to gnaw at him. What did it matter if he left it on the floor to be picked up later? It wasn't as if she would be walking through the door any second now. She was never coming back, that was apparent.

All thanks to him.

He turned his back on the aftermath of his little lapse in temper, resolving to straighten the mess up after he found something to eat. The pantry still had some canned goods he hadn't already taken, as it was always beyond well stocked. He would have needed a shopping cart instead of a duffle bag to completely clean out the larders, thanks to Mrs. Higgins's compulsive shopping and Mr. Higgins's insistence on always being prepared for anything.

Jason started out the door, but then stopped, with the realization that he was forgetting something. He sifted through the clothes on the floor before spotting the brush he'd flung earlier. After finally deciding to take it, he wasn't going to forget it that easily Now he could go ahead and venture to the kitchen in search of an easy meal, and afterwards he might lay down for a while. It wasn't as if he were in a hurry to go anywhere after all.


End file.
